Bad Hugh eBook

Dr. Richards had never enjoyed a reputation for being
very devotional, and the interval between his entrance
and the commencement of the service was passed by
him in a rather scornful survey of the time-worn house.
With a sneer in his heart, he mentally compared the
old-fashioned pulpit, with its steep flight of steps
and faded trimmings, with the lofty cathedral he had
been in the habit of attending in Paris, and a feeling
of disgust and contempt was creeping over him, when
a soft rustling of silk, and a consciousness of a
delicate perfume, which he at once recognized as aristocratic,
warned him that somebody was coming; somebody entirely
different from the score of females who had distributed
themselves within range of his vision, their countrified
bonnets, as he termed them, trimmed outside and in
without the least regard to taste, or combination
of color. But the little lady, moving so quietly
up the aisle—­she was different. She
was worthy of respect, and the Paris beau felt an
inclination to rise at once and acknowledge her superior
presence.

Wholly unconscious of the interest she was exciting,
the lady deposited her muff upon the cushions, and
then kneeling reverently upon the well-worn stool,
covered her face with the hands which had so won the
doctor’s admiration. What a little creature
she was, scarcely larger than a child twelve summers
old, and how gloriously beautiful were the curls of
indescribable hue, falling in such profusion from beneath
the jaunty hat. All this Dr. Richards noted,
marveling that she knelt so long, and wondering what
she could be saying.

Alice’s devotion ended at last, and the view
so coveted was obtained; for in adjusting her dress
Alice turned toward him, or rather toward his mother,
and the doctor drew a sudden breath as he met the brilliant
flashing of those laughing sunny blue eyes, and caught
the radiant expression of that face, slightly dimpled
with a smile. Beautiful, wondrously beautiful
was Alice Johnson, and yet the features were not wholly
regular, for the piquant nose had a slight turn up,
and the forehead was not very high; but for all this,
the glossy hair, the dancing blue eyes, the apple-blossom
complexion, and the rosebud mouth made ample amends;
and Dr. Richards saw no fault in that witching face,
flashing its blue eyes for an instant upon him, and
then modestly turning to the service just commencing.
So absorbed was Dr. Richards as not to notice that
the strain of music filling the old church did not
come from the screeching melodeon he had so anathematized,
but from an organ as mellow and sweet in its tone
as any he had heard across the sea. He did not
notice anything; and when his sister, surprised at
his sitting posture, whispered to him of her surprise,
he started quickly, and next time the congregation
arose he was the first upon his feet, mingling his
voice with that of Alice Johnson and even excelling
her in the loudness of his reading!

As if divining his wishes in the matter, his mother
turned to the eagerly expectant doctor, whom she introduced
as “My son, Dr. Richards.”